


lead by example

by flirtygaybrit



Category: Aquaman (2018), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Alien Biology, Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: A fish in the sky would always hurtle toward the ground, and the sea would always welcome him home. He was always destined to return to Atlantis.And maybe he was always destined for this.





	lead by example

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's gonna get this ball of incestuous fish sex rolling, it might as well be me. NSFW brother fucking ahead, obviously.
> 
> EDIT: now translated and posted on mtslash by the fantastic OneThird!

With a loud swallow, Arthur downed the last of his water, crumpled up the empty carton, and flicked it into the damp sand on the beach before him. The Boxed Water carton was white and black, no larger than a standard small milk or juice carton, and it shifted gently with each wave that arrived at the shore until the surf carried it away at last.

The company may have been planting trees to replace the ones they harvested, but their packaging was still paper, their water was still just water, and their product was expensive as hell. But eco-friendly, apparently. It all sounded like a load of horse shit to Arthur, who watched the waves pull the carton out to sea until it was barely a white speck on the horizon.

He closed his eyes. The water barely reached Arthur’s toes; the tide was pulling away from the shore, following the moon that rose high overhead. It was a beautiful night, and the beach Arthur had found was sufficiently vacant. He wouldn’t have been comfortable enough to sit on the beach if anyone had been nearby, but with his eyes closed and his senses open to the world around him, the most he could hear was the distant sound of waves. No gulls cried for food, no tourists loitered about, no plastic cups half-filled with lemonade or beer floated gently by. He was alone, and it was peaceful.

Then he heard the sound of the carton hitting the sand next to him, and when he opened his eyes again, there was someone in the water, a dark figure with eyes shining red against the night sky.

Orm had a habit of materializing unexpectedly. This wasn’t an unexpected appearance, exactly, but the fact remained that he was predictably unpredictable. He had a habit of showing up whether he was wanted or not, and he was like the Bat in that regard, always dropping in and ready to pick a fight, sling a few complicated words around, and maybe prove himself a nuisance in the process. Or maybe he was nothing like the Bat, and he was like ocean pollution instead, omnipresent and toxic, a choking hazard and a danger to everyone he wrapped himself around.

The thought made Arthur smile, and he aimed his amusement directly at Orm, who was now only knee-deep in the water and moving ever closer, cutting soundlessly and gracefully through the sea like a shark.

Unlike a shark, and very much like a Bat, he didn’t grin at Arthur as he approached. 

The scowl didn’t bother Arthur. Arthur sat contentedly in the sand with his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze fixed on a point in the distance, and he didn’t give Orm the satisfaction of being looked up at. Especially in that suit. There was no-one around to admire Orm’s magnificent battle regalia, save for Arthur, who had seen enough of it to last him a lifetime. Maybe he’d expected a welcoming party. Maybe he’d expected no-one at all.

Orm left a trail of craters in the sand that were washed away by gentle waves, and when he finally reached Arthur he lowered himself onto the ground, removed his mask, and placed it in the sand between them.

“The hour is late,” he said, as quietly indignant as though the darkness surrounding them might have some impact on their meeting. His vision was as good as Arthur’s, if not better. The waxing moon may as well have been the sun to both of them.

“Oops,” Arthur said. “Did I wake you up?”

He looked at Orm directly this time, though Orm still didn’t smile back. He had his hair slicked back, tied carefully at the back of his head, and he didn’t look tired. Maybe he’d been expecting to be called upon.

“Such childish antics should be beneath you.”

“Probably,” Arthur agreed. He smiled benignly at Orm, who glowered at him, clearly waiting for Arthur to apologize for interrupting whatever important business he’d been attending to.

Arthur didn’t apologize. 

Orm exhaled indignantly.

He made to reach for his mask, but Arthur’s fingers found it first; he lifted the cowl from the sand by one silver fin and flung it into the ocean. He didn’t check to see where it landed, or precisely how far out he’d tossed it, but the irritated growl that rumbled from Orm’s throat was a good indication that he’d finally managed to make Orm angry.

And that, like Orm’s surly, mid-night appearance on the shore and Orm’s mask lost in the surf, was precisely what Arthur wanted.

But he’d miscalculated Orm’s anger again. As he was swinging a leg over Orm to pin him to the sand, Orm used Arthur’s own momentum to throw him aside. Arthur landed several dozen feet away, skidding to a halt in a pile of damp sand, and Orm was already striding toward him, his teeth bared in a snarl that Arthur was starting to grow somewhat fond of.

“Callous,” Orm growled, kneeling to grasp Arthur by the throat before Arthur could rise. His grip was unforgivingly tight, and for a split second his eyes caught the light of the moon and flared blue with fury. “Like a _child_.”

“That’s funny, coming from the younger b—”

“You are an interloper,” Orm hissed. “A careless bottom-feeder even on the surface world, who—”

“Actually, I’m kind of a cool guy—”

“—shows so little respect for his status. For _mine_.”

Arthur grinned defiantly up at him, and in a blur of movement his hand was by Orm’s head. But Orm shared his superhuman speed, just as he shared the rest of Arthur’s array of Atlantean abilities, and he was easily capable of halting Arthur’s wrist in mid-air. His eyes were roaming over Arthur’s face with that same burning intensity, but his gaze soon began to shift, tracing the long, black lines of Arthur’s tattoos over his throat and chest.

“You’re right,” Arthur said. He eased up, letting his arm go slack in Orm’s grip until Orm was simply holding his hand in place and no longer fending off an attack. He wasn’t going to win a wrestling contest like this. Orm’s rage was still too close to the surface, his defeat still an open sore. “I am careless. And an outsider. But I’m still family,” he added, then tossed in another cautious smile. “Right?”

Orm wet his lips. His hand didn’t leave Arthur’s throat, though his grip slackened noticeably, and after a few tense, quiet moments, he allowed Arthur to move his hand closer until it brushed against the back of Orm’s head.

“If your admission is intended as an apology...”

“It isn’t,” Arthur said. “Unless this is supposed to be yours.” 

Orm exhaled, a sharp huff, then sat back on one knee, leaving Arthur still reaching toward him from his cozy little pile of sand. “Hm. It would be unsatisfactory if it were.”

Then Orm took a seat in the sand. He looked more than a little ridiculous, sitting there in his full battle regalia, looking every bit the murderous, vengeful ruler that he’d been when Arthur had first met him. His anger seemed to have dissipated already, though, and eventually he turned his gaze to the sea. Orm was easier to wrestle into submission one-on-one, with the bravado and performative bullshit dialed down a few dozen notches. Here, he was just a man in armour, and armour could easily be stripped away.

“Can’t imagine you know a lot about satisfying people,” Arthur said, finally pulling himself upright. He let his eyes travel along the silver-rimmed abdominal plates and over the scaled armour covering Orm’s chest and shoulders. The darkness would have turned the deep purple to a near-black for any human. With his helm on, its eyes gleaming blood-red and those curved metal scales glittering in the moonlight, he would have cut an impressive figure against the distant joining of the sea and sky.

To Arthur, he just looked like a guy who needed some company.

“I don’t know what that means,” Orm said quietly. “But I suspect you wish to offend.”

Arthur lifted a shoulder. He wasn’t wrong. “You’re not wrong. What‘s good down there, anyway? You get lucky enough to cross swords with anyone? Or do you just keep an eye out for an empty tube sponge?”

He grinned again. Orm’s expression shifted into one that suggested he would have been happy to shove his hand down Arthur’s throat and manually rearrange his insides, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“It might surprise you to learn that I once wished you had never been abandoned,” he said. When he looked back at Arthur, Arthur was lounging in the sand, resting his head in one hand, and Orm’s gaze lingered more obviously this time at the cluster of black lines that ran the length of Arthur’s stomach and disappeared beneath his pants.

Arthur was so pleased that it took him a moment to catch up. “Right. So lemme guess. Now you wish I’d stayed away longer?”

Orm began to remove his gauntlets. They each hit the sand with a dull thud and a faint metallic clatter. “Quite the opposite,” he said, and began to remove his chest plate.

Arthur found the form-fitting scaled dress of the Atlanteans particularly fascinating. It was like Superman’s suit married the Bat’s, forming something not quite clothing but not quite armour. It would hold in a fight, it revealed little of the wearer, and it was surprisingly comfortable to wear, though it provided little in the way of support where needed. Arthur still preferred jeans, and he preferred to think of the way the suit clung to Orm’s body than lingering on the time he’d lost to trying to make his way in a world that didn’t quite belong to him.

“You should lead by example as king,” Orm said at last. Pieces of his armour littered the beach, and Arthur’s eyes were inadvertently drawn to the apex of the curved scale-symbol that sat glittering between his hips.

“You think I should be doing something different?”

Orm glanced at him for only a moment, fingers resting against the symbol as if he knew that Arthur was thinking about pulling it off with his teeth. “As the eldest, and as a ruler,” he continued, “you risk your hesitation appearing as weakness.”

Arthur thought about it for a moment. “Do I look weak?”

“Perhaps to some,” Orm said. He slipped one foot out of its silver boot, and Arthur was surprised to see that he was barefoot.

“But not you.”

Orm smiled. “Some,” he repeated. His second boot came off, then the armour surrounding his lower legs. Arthur found himself surprisingly eager to see the rest hit the sand. “Some recognize it as inexperience.”

That made Arthur chuckle, but there was uncertainty in it. He was no longer sure what Orm was referring to, and his obvious amusement was a rare thing; most of the emotion he’d displayed around Arthur lay somewhere between grief and hatred, but that wasn’t what Arthur saw when Orm looked at him now. Now, he looked like he couldn’t look at Arthur enough.

“So,” Arthur said, pushing himself upright. The last of Orm’s armour was shed, glittering in in the moonlight like a pirate’s treasure half-buried in the sand. Orm even released his hair from its clasp, and it fell over his shoulders in a smooth platinum cascade as he began to right himself also. “How do you… deal with that?”

“With?”

“Inexperience.”

Orm crossed the short distance between them with unsettling fluidity, and Arthur found himself pressed back against the sand once more; this time, when he raised his fingers to Orm’s hair, he tangled his fingers in it and cupped his fingers against the back of Orm’s head. His heart pounded. Maybe Orm wasn’t the only one in need of company.

Orm slid his hand down Arthur’s bare chest. His fingers were incredibly warm.

“With experience,” he said, and kissed Arthur slowly.

It was startlingly easy to reciprocate, easy to open his mouth against Orm’s and let himself taste the seawater on his brother’s tongue, and the moment Orm sighed against his mouth Arthur found himself able to pinpoint what exactly it was that Orm had meant by ‘quite the opposite’.

Seconds passed. The ocean lapped gently at Arthur’s feet, and Orm flattened his hand over Arthur’s heart the way a lover would. Arthur combed his fingers through Orm’s hair and wondered if Orm would try so hard to hold him down if he knew that Arthur had no intention of leaving.

After some time, Orm relented; Arthur didn’t often (or ever) find himself breathless, but he now found himself dizzy with some sensation he couldn’t quite identify. It felt like the first time he’d ridden a roller-coaster and experienced the thrill of the drop, the first time he’d cut through the ocean like a guided missile, the first time he’d seen Atlantis. It felt like possibility—and those moments hadn’t simply been impossibility, but inevitabilities. A fish in the sky would always hurtle toward the ground, and the sea would always welcome him home. He was always destined to return to Atlantis.

And maybe he was always destined for this.

With his free hand, Arthur reached for Orm’s face, and like the first time, Orm caught him. This time he guided Arthur’s hand, not away from him but toward him, until Arthur’s fingers were pressed against his mouth. He kissed the backs of Arthur’s knuckles and Arthur twisted his hand and brushed the pad of his thumb over Orm’s lips until Orm’s eyes fluttered shut.

“So,” he murmured. Orm’s tongue was almost unbearably soft against his skin, and when Orm closed his lips around his thumb, it made his cock ache. “I gotta ask about those codpieces.”

Orm hummed, scraping a pointed canine against Arthur’s skin. Arthur tried to imagine them sinking into his flesh, and he pressed his thumb eagerly against its point to hurry it along. Orm just made a face and pulled away, though he didn’t release Arthur’s wrist. “More spacious than that of any land dweller.”

“These land dwellers don’t wear codpieces,” Arthur reminded him. No need to sink to his level and trade shots about size. Orm was easy to rile up and delighted in eliciting response. It was probably kind of cruel not to acknowledge him, actually. “I dunno what you guys know about modern civilization, but it’s not the Middle Ages anymore. We don’t wear armour, we wear comfortable shit. Clothes that cradle you in all the right places.”

Orm sat upright and gazed thoughtfully at Arthur’s groin as if it were the first time he’d noticed it. “You fight one another without armour.”

“Sometimes. Military gets armour. Police get armour. Don’t need it for a scrap on the street, though. Most people are just out here wearing jeans. T-shirts. Bathing suits. Or nothing. You ever been to a nude beach?”

The question didn’t seem to mean anything to Orm, but most aspects of humanity never did. Gaze still fixed on Arthur’s jeans, he slid his hand along the length of Arthur’s thigh and stopped with his thumb resting high in the crease of his groin. “You said… clothing that cradles you. What does it cradle?”

Arthur raised a brow.

“You mean you’ve never seen a regular human guy naked?”

Orm stared at him with an expression so disdainful that Arthur was fairly sure his children would see it in their dreams one day.

“I have no fuckin’ idea how different we can be from you,” Arthur said truthfully. Growing up with a human father and no memories of an Atlantean mother hadn’t done much to educate him on his heritage. They couldn’t have been so different, to be able to give birth to mixed-race children. “But maybe you can show me.”

Orm hummed again, his pleasure like a musical note drifting over the sand, then sat back on his knees and tipped his chin toward Arthur’s jeans. “May I?”

Arthur grinned.

It took Orm some time to figure out how to unbuckle his belt, and his plan seemed to hit another hitch when it came time to properly navigate the buttons and zipper of Arthur’s jeans. He was trying to downplay his lack of familiarity with human clothing and anatomy, that much was apparent, but he seemed pleased with himself when Arthur lifted his hips to allow Orm to tug his pants down his thighs—but the moment his cock was free, half-hard in the cool night air, a crease formed between Orm’s brows, and it looked like he’d made up his mind. 

“So this is human. Of course your mammalian nature should manifest so…” He curled his fingers underneath Arthur’s cock and let it rest in his palm while he examined it, gently tipping it this way and that. He then gave Arthur an experimental squeeze, gaze flicking from Arthur’s cock to his face as Arthur inhaled and rocked his hips up. His eyes were bright with curiosity, and he seemed satisfied when another gentle squeeze elicited the same reaction. “...impressively.”

Orm may not have seen a man naked before, but he certainly knew how to stroke a man’s ego.

Arthur relaxed against the sand and spent the following several minutes allowing Orm to satisfy his curiosity. Naturally, Orm took full advantage of it. He left no part of Arthur’s groin unexplored, shifting his cock this way and that to examine its appearance with a near-clinical fascination; his fingers found their way to Arthur’s balls, and he tested those too, weighing them in his hand and pressing his fingers gently into the soft flesh between them. It was almost comical, how interested Orm was in something so mundane, but it didn’t stop Arthur’s cock from stiffening in Orm’s hands. The knowledge that Arthur’s cock was likely the first human cock he’d ever been exposed to sent a minor shiver down Arthur’s spine, and for the first time, the thought of sleeping with a full-blooded Atlantean thrilled him. 

But Orm wasn’t just any Atlantean. Orm shared his blood, even if he shared little else with Arthur. Maybe under different circumstances, Arthur’s anatomy might have been familiar to Orm, and Orm’s to Arthur. Not that he would’ve—no, he thought, correcting himself. He would have. He was. Orm was coaxing him to full hardness with both hands, and under different circumstances, he might have been doing it years earlier, fooling around with him in some riverbed or private inlet or deep, dark trench. He could see it with his eyes closed to the moon and stars, and as cock twitched he muttered. “Jesus Christ,” and thrusted into Orm’s hands.

And then Orm’s hands were gone.

Arthur blinked his eyes open. “What?”

Orm was still kneeling next to him, but he was in the midst of removing his own clothing. The suit was like a snakeskin, bunching up and falling formless in a dark heap on the beach as Orm shed it. He did this with surprising grace, too, and then he was naked against the sand, looking immeasurably pleased by the circumstances that had led him to this moment. 

And it didn’t take long for Arthur to determine why. While slimmer than Arthur himself, Orm was still powerfully built, his form imposing, muscled and similar to Arthur’s in almost all ways but for the faint dark line that ran vertically along the length of his pubic mound and disappeared in the shadows between his thighs.

Once again, Orm lowered himself to his knees, crawled up until he was straddling Arthur’s thighs, and leaned down to kiss Arthur slowly, tenderly, reverently.

It was unfamiliar, the weight of Orm atop him, but not unwelcome. Arthur moved his hands over Orm’s skin, skating his fingers over the great width of his shoulders, then the broad span of his back. Orm lowered himself until he was pressed along the length of Arthur’s body, but it was strange to feel nothing between his thighs when Orm was so obviously male, and with Orm kissing him once again, sighing against his mouth, it almost felt too ridiculous to put the moment on hold and ask.

“The time you spent away, Arthur. You could never fathom...” Orm sighed against Arthur’s mouth. He kissed him again, then again, his tongue soft and warm against Arthur’s own. It felt like he was afraid that Arthur wouldn’t kiss him again if he stopped long enough to speak, but as Arthur’s hands roamed his back, he shivered with delight and seemed to find his thoughts again. “For how long I thought of you… how I loved you… oh, how truly omnipotent we could be.”

Arthur swallowed, fisted one of his hands in Orm’s hair, and kissed him even harder.

When they finally parted, Arthur was breathless again, and he was starting to grow used to the feeling of Orm’s bare pubis rubbing against his own. It seemed obvious that this wasn’t where they would stop, and Arthur found it more than unfair that Orm had been given such ample time to explore when he’d been given none, so it was with no small amount of eagerness that he reached down to feel the slit… and found his wrist once again circled within Orm’s fingers, restrained just below Orm’s stomach, the slit only inches beyond his reach.

“C’mon,” Arthur breathed. “You saw mine. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Orm gazed at him for a long moment. It was one thing to be studied by those eyes in combat, assessed by someone with military intelligence, a strategist. It was another thing to be gazed at with such raw, honest desire.

“Remember that shit you said about hesitation,” Arthur insisted. “You know how to be a king. You know how people in Atlantis”—he tilted his head toward his outstretched hand, toward the slit pressed against Arthur’s thigh—“work. Show me. Lead by example.”

He pressed his hand against the part of Orm’s abdomen that he could reach, and that seemed to be enough for Orm; Orm sat upright suddenly, running his fingers through his hair as he stared down at Arthur’s cock, still curved up between them and framed by Arthur’s jeans.

“I’m certain you have… preconceptions,” Orm said slowly. He ran his fingers down Arthur’s chest and framed his cock between his thumb and forefinger, then carefully moved himself up until he was straddling Arthur’s hips completely. “May I?”

“Fuck,” Arthur said. “Yeah. Yeah.”

He was usually more wary about putting his dick in anything he couldn’t see or thoroughly explore firsthand, but Orm’s confidence had snuck up on him, and it was only now as Orm carefully guided Arthur’s cock into himself that Arthur thought it would have been nice to familiarize himself with his brother’s body first. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect; plenty of marine mammals had genital slits, even the males, and at the very least he could have spent some time opening Orm with his fingers and tongue. 

But he didn’t have time to let his thoughts linger. All Arthur could do now was grip at Orm’s hips and stare at him, surprised by the slick heat that his cock found just inside Orm’s—whatever it was. Not especially tight, not the way he was used to with men and women, but his cock seemed to fit comfortably inside, and Orm didn’t look uncomfortable by any means. In fact, he looked somewhat expectant.

“So you don’t…” Arthur swallowed. He felt the distinct sensation of something sliding against him, and while he could see no change from the outside, he could feel Orm’s body beginning to constrict around the base of his cock. “Jesus. You don’t have a… is this how you usually fuck someone?”

“No,” Orm said. Then: “This is new. I may require some guidance.” The pressure on Arthur’s cock increased again, then decreased, and all at once he became aware of another strange sensation; it felt like a gentle pulsing, like the slow, steady rhythm of a heartbeat, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that Orm wasn’t waiting for him to take charge—he was waiting for him to decide what he liked.

He slid a hand up Orm’s thigh and nodded, gazing down at the slit that now sheathed his cock. “Yeah, that’s—that’s good. Keep it there.” 

Orm hummed contentedly, and suddenly that same pressure rippled along the entire length of Arthur’s cock. Firm, hot flesh closed in.

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur groaned. He gripped at Orm’s bare thigh and, experimentally, squeezed his ass, which seemed to have disappointingly little effect. Orm already looked immeasurably pleased with himself, and as he leaned down over Arthur, he left a trail of soft kisses along his jaw.

“Trust in me,” Orm whispered. His lips brushed against Arthur’s. “My king.”

He kissed Arthur once more and made to sit upright, but Arthur wasn’t ready to let him pull away. He fisted a hand in Orm’s hair and kissed him again, fiercely this time, then rocked his hips up. Orm inhaled sharply against his mouth and Arthur heard the sound of sand shifting next to his head as Orm’s hand sank into it; he was surprised to find that Orm was slightly off-balance now, thighs digging into Arthur’s hips in an attempt to steady himself, and it took a few moments for Arthur to realize that this was probably not a situation Orm was used to, even if the position was familiar to him. In the water, movement was multidirectional and gravity was nearly non-existent. On land, Orm had to obey the laws of gravity that the other surface-dwellers abided by.

He was, quite literally now, a fish out of water. Had Arthur not been balls-deep in him, he would have found it hilarious.

So Arthur steadied him, holding his hip with one hand while the other skidded over his back; he moved slowly, curling his hips upward while Orm balanced himself against the sand; it was strange to see him in the moonlight like this: unarmoured, hair falling over his shoulders, sand clinging to his body where Arthur’s fingers had grazed his skin. It was stranger still to see the smooth, hairless curve of his pubis, and now Arthur couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay. With the barest hint of pressure, he brushed the pads of his fingers along one side of the slit, and he was surprised to find that Orm’s flesh wasn’t nearly as soft as he’d imagined; the flesh was smooth, hot beneath his fingers, but it felt nothing like human labia. 

Orm shuddered once, and with unexpected urgency he pinned Arthur’s hand in the damp sand next to his head.

“Not yet,” Orm breathed. He flattened his free hand once again over Arthur’s chest and closed his eyes, jaw slack with pleasure, but he wasn’t moving… and yet something inside him was. Something was still pulsing gently against him, squeezing him with that same steady pressure as if milking his cock, and all he could do was stare up at Orm.

He was beautiful. He was Arthur’s younger brother, former King of Atlantis, and he was seated on Arthur’s cock like it was the only throne he’d ever wished for.

With one hand still on Orm’s hips, Arthur rocked up against him, pushing into that slick heat again and again. Orm shivered with delight, and while he didn’t roll his own hips down, it seemed like he understood what Arthur wanted and adjusted himself accordingly. Soon, that internal pressure was sliding along Arthur’s cock in a manner that mimicked (and, to Arthur’s surprise, completely eliminated the need for) mechanical thrusting. He groaned, throwing his head back against the sand while Orm held him in place and—Christ, fucked him without even moving. It brought to mind the image of sharks thrashing in the water, their bodies intertwined, locked together in a carnal dance. 

Mindless pleasure. Maybe this was what marine life was doing all along. Maybe they had their shit figured out.

“Fuck,” Arthur breathed. “Shit, what are you…”

The motion was unmistakable now. Orm’s body was milking him with pressure that rippled along the length of his cock, creating a suction-like sensation that almost seemed to pull the air out of Arthur’s lungs. He was touching every part of Orm that he could reach now: his hair, his chest, his arms, his back. He was nearly desperate to have Orm’s body pressed against his again, but Orm simply gazed down at him with that same glazed expression before the corners of his mouth turned up. 

“It was your desire to couple with me,” he whispered. “Is this what you wished for?”

“Yes, Jesus Christ, yes, can you—”

This time Orm leaned down over him and kissed him firmly, and all Arthur could do was wrap his arms around him and moan against his mouth and thrust up ineffectively as Orm’s body milked his cock. While it was his name, _Orm_ sounded like such a nonsensical thing to say, and _I love you_ didn’t fit quite yet, so Arthur said nothing of importance instead; he groaned and bucked against Orm’s body and held him close, panting against his mouth as the alien suction-pressure of Orm’s body finally drew his climax from him, the pleasure like waves breaking on the shore. He gripped at Orm so tightly it felt like he would bruise him and shuddered helplessly while he emptied himself inside his brother.

When he was done, he kissed Orm again and again, until at last Orm sighed against his mouth and began to dismount.

The beach was an excellent place to come down from an orgasm. The gentle lap of water on the shore was a soothing sound, the distant waves like white noise in the haze of his mind. As Orm pulled up and away, though, it still struck Arthur as strange that the pressure around his cock didn’t change the way it should have; he still felt as though he were buried in Orm’s body, still enveloped in that wet heat, and it was only out of mild curiosity that he looked down to find that a fleshy pink mass was attached to his cock, extending from the genital slit that Orm had forbidden him from touching. It unraveled like some disgusting, sticky spool of thread, and as it did he realized that he hadn’t just caused his brother’s internal organs to prolapse.

He’d been fucking Orm’s cock all along.

“Holy fuck,” he said eloquently. 

Orm lowered himself into the sand and stretched out on his back, fully nude and unashamed, and grinned at Arthur; his cock coiled lazily on his abdomen, and while it was difficult to measure by eye, it seemed to be at least the length of Arthur’s forearm and as thick as his wrist at the base. It shone in the moonlight, glistening with Arthur’s fluids and perhaps some of Orm’s own. Or definitely some Orm’s own. He seemed unusually relaxed for someone who hadn’t shown any outward signs of orgasm. He seemed unusually relaxed, period.

“That what you meant by ‘preconceptions’?” Arthur nodded at it.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well.” Arthur glanced down at himself. His own cock lay wetly against his belly. His jeans weren’t even damp, save for where the water from the sand had soaked into the fabric. “Yeah. Didn’t expect that.”

Cautiously, he reached over. This time Orm simply watched him, and this time it was Orm’s cock that curled around Arthur’s wrist. Firm and slick, it moved seemingly of its own accord, curling between Arthur’s fingers and leaving them damp with his own release. Oh, he’d heard of this before. This was definitely not human. But it certainly was—

“Impressive,” he said, echoing Orm’s words. “So did you…?”

“I found my release.” Orm turned onto his side and gazed at Arthur. That familiar intensity hadn’t disappeared, but his features had softened in the quiet post-coital moments. If this had been a power move, Orm would have been the first to announce his victory. For now, and for the first time in months that Arthur had known him, he seemed content. “You are a fledgeling ruler. A feather star with its stalk still rooted in the earth. But…” He leaned in and kissed Arthur again, and this time Arthur was not too hazy to enjoy the softness of Orm’s lips against his. “You will be a resplendent leader.”

It would have been easy to take offense, but Arthur was starting to get used to Orm’s poetic, roundabout speech. He still wasn’t sure if Orm was talking about his sexual prowess or his actual leadership skills, but it was a compliment as plain as any.

“And what about you?” Arthur asked. He brushed his fingers over Orm’s cheek. “You’re gonna help me, right? I’m not a king. You said it yourself. I don’t belong there.”

“The blood of Atlantis runs in you,” Orm said quietly. “You belong.”

Arthur smiled at him. What a change twenty minutes and a good fuck could make.

“So, should I call that an apology for before? All that shit you said about me when you were trying to choke me out earlier? ‘Cause I’ll accept it this time.”

“It appears you’ve accepted more than an apology,” Orm said, which didn’t sound like an apology at all. He stretched out his legs and rested an arm atop Arthur’s chest, seemingly unbothered by the wet sand shifting beneath them. Maybe they could’ve found a more comfortable place to do this. Arthur was already starting to think he would like to show Orm what a real bed felt like, rather than a bed of sand. Fewer seagulls would try to shit on them, at least.

Arthur gazed at Orm for a long moment, then rested his hand atop his brother’s.

“Yeah. Sure seems that way.”


End file.
